


Adjutant

by Vishihan



Series: Proto Dwell Verse [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Clones, Continuity What Continuity, Drabbles, Living ships, M/M, Mech Preg, Nemesis is an AI, Sparklings, Tracks is a Decepticon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-31 05:36:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 10,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vishihan/pseuds/Vishihan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the challenge of Nano write November, a series of Drabbles were Tracks is a Decepticon in charge of PR and under the command of Soundwave and partner to the ships AI the Nemesis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Morning Announcements

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own a thing. Just playing about in the sandbox a bit. 
> 
> Units of time   
> Breem 8.3 minutes  
> Cycle (IDW comics) 1 hour 15 minutes (1.25 hours)  
> Mega-cycle (IDW comics) 93 hours  
> Deca-cycle (IDW comics) ~3 weeks  
> Stellar cycle (IDW comics) ~7.5 months  
> Vorn 83 years
> 
> Written because of the fact that Proto-Tracks was thought to be a Decepticon.. and it just works well.

“Good morning comrades,” Tracks purred into the mic as he settled at his station, wings lifted as he settled into the chair. “I am here to bring you the new announcements for this Mega-cycle. While the human weather stations are predicting rain, it does appear that the storm system will be passing us by. So enjoy the native’s air show and do remember the rules. No one goes anywhere alone; keep in groups of three to five and doll units are a must.”

He took a sip of energon, fingers tapping the screen to pull up information. “For those who do not own personal doll units, generics are available on first come first serve basis. I have heard rumors that one of our very talented engineers will be holding a Doll lottery sometime in the upcoming Mega-cycle for those who wish to own a custom doll. Swindle also has a few units for sale, please comm. his business line for prices. He also wishes to express that his business line is for serious inquires only.”

Tracks ran his fingers over the screen, flickering through the pages. “The medical staff wishes it to be known that mandatory maintenance examinations are scheduled for next Deca-cycle. They press for everyone to schedule appointments now and if possible schedule early. If you do not schedule your own appointment, they will schedule one for you and it will likely be at the most inconvenient possible time that they can make it. So please, make the medical staff happy and schedule your maintenance and be on time for your appointment.” 

“Slipstream will like it to be known that leaving anonymous gifts address to her in front of her domicile was cute the first Deca-cycle but now is verging on creepy. Please recall that anonym is only allowed for two to three Mega-cycles before you are expected to come forward. So, please grow some bearings and come forward before I am forced to monitor the domicile hallways to fill out a restraining order.” 

“And for those reaching for their comm. I do have authority to monitor the domiciles if certain things arise,” he said dryly and sipped a bit more, scrolling through. “If you wish to contest this privilege, speak to our Third in Command and Chief Communication officer, Soundwave. But, really… do you want Soundwave handling the domestic disputes? I think not.” 

“And my offer?”

Tracks smirked slightly, idly flicking Nemesis leg as the ships AI settled on the sound board. “And our darling Nemesis, the AI that controls the ship, has a deal for those on their off shifts. She would like her outer hull scrubbed of debris and offering an extra Mega-cycle of down time. Those that help will also get to decide the upcoming films for the daily movie night.” 

“Tonight’s movie is Pandorum and will be showing during the hours of 7 and 9 pm. Being the first of the earth month November, the music for the Mega-cycle is classical Cybertronian followed by an earth day of human metal. You are welcome to request songs.” 

“Our last and finally announcement for this morning is from Second in Command Starscream, who quote ‘Promises to gut whatever irresponsible grounder is using the science corridors as a short cut in a drag race.’ Be aware that the science corridors are off limits to most of the crew, contain highly volatile chemicals, and has one highly irate Officer in the vicinity.”

“Drag racing inside the Nemesis is also off limits as well as traveling in alt mode outside of emergencies.” 

“And this has been Tracks, with today’s morning announcements and leaving you with the gentle sounds of Jazz’s first symphony ‘The Northern Wind.’ ”


	2. Sexual Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracks pokes the bear. Or, someone finally brings up the subject of all that sexual tension between Megatron and Starscream with expectation of something being done about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone else believe that if Starscream's crush was brought to Megatron's attention they might be able to work together?
> 
> Not sure about this chapter but ehh.

War wasn’t anything like the stress of choir during city state competitions and the hulls of the ship were nothing similar to the Spirals beyond the arching shape of the bridge. Grounder / Seeker culture clashes, and Tracks had to narrow it down to Seekers since most of the other aerial troops didn’t have the same irritating problem that his wing lord did, remained. They were just more… intense, to the point that his friends were unfortunate victims.

Slipstreams wings were singed, the other layer of nano cells blistered and peeled back from the heat giving the sleek expanse a roughened appearance. Her red optics were dulled and posture rather slumped. Tracks sighed, fingers playing with the lip of his ration as he half heartily debated his next move on the board. Slip’s attention wasn’t in the complexities of Alliance and he weren’t much better. 

“I’m going to null that last move, and we can play again tomorrow when you can think clearer.” Tracks flick the board back a move, the hologram flickering before the disk when dark. He tapped his fingers against the game board before slipping it into subspace. “And do something about… this,” Tracks motioned at her wings, the tank mech in the back missing an arm, a cluster of damaged Vehicons taking up one of the long tables. 

“And you are going to do that how? Just walk up to the big guy and tell him he been doing everything wrong?” She snapped her claws, optics brightening slightly. “Can I watch?”  
Tracks paused before shrugging, giving a sharp grin. “Why not… though that will involve being near Megatron when I tell him to clank chestplates with Starscream already.” 

Slipstream started, optics narrowing, calculating. “Get Nem to record it, since I’m not suicidal?” 

“Nope, that would be a very clear misconduct of my rank.” Tracks replied back, giving a sassy if teasing saunter as he left the table and the femme behind. “Either watch or don’t.” He would appreciate a bit of back up. Well, besides the Nemesis. He gave a wave to the camera in the hallway and continued onwards. Megatron would be… hmm 

A ping returned, containing a packet of information and he took the third hallway, heading towards the arena. Not the best place to disturb the ex-gladiator, the distinctive sound of the fusion cannon was blaring and Nemesis had revealed the training ground to be empty. 

The Nemesis was to be a flag ship, the first to arrive on a scene and had been constructed in space from docks to support the size. Arenas, med bays, officer quarters and barracks the small if delicate crystalline garden… Tracks had designed his quarters and Megatron’s touch was clearly in the training ring. 

It was gritty, sprawled and deep and made him feel insignificant and lost within the echoing chamber. It smelt of energy, plasma from the burst of the fusion cannon, tang of old energon, crusted into dark patches on gunmetal and Megatron. Primal, rage fueled and sharp control dueling and there was a reason he had pledged his service to the Decepticon cause. The anger, the control, the immense knowledge of the worse the world and mecha had to offer. Megatron could be great.  
Starscream could be great. 

Together they could be brilliant. Starscream’s knowledge combined with Megatron’s worldly experience. Starscream’s caution tempering Megatron’s brute efficiency in meeting challenges. And he had been daydreaming. 

Tracks paused, head tilting back to meet Megatron’s irritate but perhaps a bit of surprise and curiosity in that dark gaze. “Sir,” he acknowledged, nodding to the larger mech.  
“I would expect this sort of behavior from Starscream.” 

“It is about him…” He swallowed, gathering his courage and thoughts. “And the last few skirmishes and Vos.” Definitely Vos and programing and back on topic. “If I could be blunt?” 

“And short,” Megatron commanded, sitting down two rows below him. Funny that now their optics were level and no, focus. 

“Air commander Starscream wants to frag you.” Simple, not at much as waiting till they were at a board meeting and poking a fork into the near stifling sexual tension. ‘Mmm, sexual tension, yum.’ To the point at least, and had Megatron always had such strong broad hands or did the dried energon make them seem larger?

Tracks looked up, gathering himself at the looks of disbelief smeared on Megatron’s strong features. “He wants you to acknowledge him; he wants your attention so he throws himself into making spectacles of himself and his plans become more difficult and over the top. It is a Vos thing, the attention calling, the way he preens.” 

He had joined later, but even then he had seen Starscream’s crush face before it morphed into ‘Pay attention to me, acknowledge me, praise me’. Tracks plowed ahead, it needed to be out there. “The snarking, the dismissal, the only attention he gets is negative so now he craves it since at that moment your focus is entirely on him.” 

“Seekers are attention whores,” he finished up. “He couldn’t get your attention doing things right so he is taking it to the extreme hoping to pull out a miracle to wow you, so you will finally approach him and ask him on a date. Or push him onto a berth,” Tracks snorted, “at the moment he would probably settle for the nearest surface.” 

He was still getting that looked. “Do the whole army a favor and actually give him an answer if you would allow him to grace your berth?” Tracks was rather proud that his voice managed to stay level. Megatron was giving him an appraising look and Tracks could faintly feel Nemesis touch as the AI become alert and focus on his predicament. 

“I believe you have work to do.”

“Most likely,” Tracks admitted and stood, hearing the clear dismissal. Megatron would do with the information whatever he wished.


	3. Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raoul hangs with Tracks and debates on how his life has turned out to be so strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble of Raoul and Track's and Co. hanging in an overprice coffee shop.

“So, are all your friends female?” Raoul questioned, shifting once again in the booth of a fancy coffee shop he normally wouldn’t be caught dead in. Tracks had narrowed in on the shop like whatever the cybertronian equivalent was for a shark to water. This shouldn’t be terribly surprising, except Tracks had then ordered all of them some sort of foo-foo drink and dragged them to a booth as if he had done this before. 

“Mmh? No, but they do tend to be more mature.” Tracks replied, scooping up a bit of foam. “I don’t think you are ready yet to meet Megatron or Soundwave. They can be rather intimidating.” He took a bit, relaxing. “Even in a doll unit. As I said, our engineers are geniuses.” 

“You and praising the techies,” A woman grouched on Tracks left, Raoul thought she had been introduced as Slipstream. He had been a bit distracted by how short the black pleated skirt was. 

“Ha.” And that one was Blackarachnia, she had a very short page cut straight along her chin and streaks of purple. She was skinny, with a sharp pointed chin and narrow eyes. 

“And if you two get in another argument over recognition, I will never take you out again.” Tracks ended the snipe contest, the second since they had met up. 

“I’ve heard you are a mechanic?” And the last was General Strika, Tracks had introduced the other two with titles but Strika’s was the only one that stuck. She looked military, with her short sides and tight tail. She was also heavy, not fat but large bone with wide shoulders and muscular and wearing more subdue clothing. 

“Yes,” Raoul replied. “Part-time.” Here he was, spending his day off with four aliens in a café, talking about his profession, surreal. 

“It is a good profession, honest.” She replied and lifted her cup with a focus as if she was afraid to grip it to tight and spill it on her hands. 

“Can you even taste this overprice coffee?” It had cost about twenty dollars for their order and he could have a meal for less than seven dollars at the local coffee house. 

“Yes, we don’t gain a nutrients from it, but we can taste it… it an interesting experience,” Blackarachnia replied. “They were quite thorough in designing the chemo-receptors and sensors for these bodies.” She gave a sly smile. “We are meant to blend into the native populaces.” 

“It took forever to persuade Megatron to sign off on the project,” Tracks bemoaned. “He did see the light and benefits in securing supplies in the end to support such an expensive project.” 

“Makes it convenient to walk into a café,” Raoul replied. A twenty some foot robot verses a five to six foot tall humanoid. And the craftsmanship, there was just tiny lines around the eyes and a sort of slinkiness in the joints. It was hard to tell that Tracks or his companions weren’t human. The sharp spike Decepticon symbol was displayed. In earrings, pendants, or in Track’s case a patch on his aviator jacket. 

“And meeting with our lawyer, shopping, enjoying Carmen at the opera,” Tracks replied. 

“Weapon shows and monster trucks rallies.” Strika replied. 

“Raves, jewelry, and photography,” Blackarchnia grinned. 

“Air museums,” Slipstream sighed. “I miss proper air shows.” 

“Choir,” Tracks replied wistful. 

“And I’m not surprise you sang choir.” It fit Track’s personality. Raoul looked over the coffee and sighed, finally taking a sip. It wasn’t horrible. He was on his day off, surrounded by his friends who were from a different planet, and in an overpriced coffee shop. “So, what was this about the Stunticons wanting to borrow me for drag racing?”


	4. Vos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracks is in awe of Vos and wants to grow up now. 
> 
> Alternate - Snap Wire has problems. Windgap, Tracks' 'Tor is totally okay with that. Tracks just really wants to fly, right now, pleaseeee.

The lights of Vos were mesmerizing. Vos was mesmerizing. The buildings lurched into the sky, as if yearning for height and were riddle with gapping caverns and rounded platforms. They glimmered, as if they were eating light and casting a blush hue of gem tone reds and purples and shy pastels of pinks and blues. Strips of lights glowed hues of red and gold as the solar cycle wound down, high lighting buildings. 

And the Seekers, Tracks craned his neck attempting to keep in sight the fliers above their air car, catching flickers of wings and turbines and cockpits. He clambered onto the seat, hands pressed against the curve of the root and helm tipped back, optics darting as the mech or femme in question ultimately passed his view. 

“You are going to fall over, sparklet.” He squirmed as large familiar hands gripped his waist and then huffed as he ended up sprawled over his creator’s lap, securely trapped and facing the shaded gloom that Snap Wire had taken refuge from the lights in. 

Tracks blinked at his step creator, and got a slow flicker of acknowledgement as Snap Wire’s optics flared and dimmed. “Wanted to watch the Seekers fly,” he grumbled but cuddled into the broad warm if rough chassis of his creator. The clear view shimmered and tinted light pink, blocking the constant barrage of lights and movement and making the atmosphere warm. 

“You have vorns to watch and eventually learn flight, Tracks. You need to wait till your thrusters stabilize.” 

“It will be foreverrrr,” Tracks moaned and gave a murderous glare at his pedes and the lack of apparent thrusters. 

“It has not been forever, they’ll come in when your coding stabilizes.” His creator tugged lightly on his helm, making Tracks shift, looking up at the silver optics glowing in the expanse of midnight plating. “Which takes time, patience for now, Tracks.” 

“You always say that.” Hundreds and millions, and infinity of patience and he wanted to fly now. Not whenever his thrusters decided to actually stay out instead of tucking back in his ankles and leg the Deca-cycle after a molt and he would have had permission to use them. He hunkered in his plating, winglets up high over his shoulders. 

/Disappointment / Scold/ Love/ 

Tracks narrowed his optics, rattling his winglets and pinged back /exasperation/ want/ longing/ love/ in response to Snap Wire’s ping. He knew Snap Wire could talk. He had heard the older mech vocalize, rarely. He sounded like raw iron and thaw, grave and thick with a hint of warmth. 

Snap Wire was pure steel wire in color that varied from matte to gloss. How the rough matte grey of his hand turned silver at the claws and how his creator reached, near shy and tangled their fingers together. Buff and metal and the scar roughened space where his ‘Tor had lost a digit. 

He added his own hand, dwarfed and white but right, seamlessly curling about both his caretaker’s hands and the ease of fields swapping and welcoming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OC Windgap is a Seeker and quite a bit worse of wear.   
> OC Snap Wire is from Praxus 
> 
> And Short drabble because of work


	5. Funding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracks gets Megatron to sign off on the funding of his project.

Of all the times to have short legs, maybe not as much as a liability as a minibot, but being about half the size of 70% of his fellow Decepticons who were not drone cold casted was getting ridiculous. Tracks scrambled, dodging a third of the Rainmakers and shouted at the Vechicons to scoot before he had Nem toss them down an airlock. 

Gahh, why did Megatron have to march everywhere at a steady clip? Couldn’t he spend a few moments leisurely studying a wall? Tracks squawked nearly losing his grip on the data pads as one of the Battlecharger’s clipped his shoulder. Primus help him, next mech to make him nearly loose his work, he was going to plant into a wall. 

Ooh, look. The techs never got around to fixing the glacier slow door. Thank Primus for low priority maintenance. “Sir!” Tracks called and glared at the group of Vehicons that suddenly appeared. Pits and Pendulum and Well. “If you lot don’t move, I will make sure your next detail rotation is in the engine rooms, greasing and scrubbing” And room. 

He moved forward, sacrificing any hope of dignity for actually catching up to Megatron. “I need to talk to you about that project!” Just stop for a moment, and listen. Thank Primus, he scurried over, ignoring the impatient look and freed the pad he wanted from the pile. 

“Thank you.” He said, falling in line and offered the pad to the warlord. “I just got the finish specs from the engineering department. Software and communications is green lighted, they want to apply it to other applications.” Tracks swallowed, hoping he could persuade Megatron to go through in signing off on the budget, despite the cost.  
“They said they could get a prototype finished in three solar cycles,” Tracks added as they walked, scrambling to keep up. “A solar cycle of testing and I should be able to use it to attend the conference on Nexus zero.” 

They needed more suppliers, which met he needed to impress the merchants at that conference. He didn’t truly need the project to do so, but the accessibility the unit would grant him could pay off big. The Autobots used Holomatter, cheap gimmick that it was and this would be so much more refine and frag, he just really wanted to one up Optimus Prime in his stupid patronizing face. 

“You are asking for a lot of hard to come by resources for your little personal project.” 

“My project could possibly double our trade networks. I would have greater accessibility to places, be able to responded and share and built rapport that will open greater trading partners and” Tracks paused, before admitting , “I really want to smear his high and mighty Optimus Prime’s face grill in the dirt.” And since he lacked the physical prowess to pull off such a feat, he would cheerfully destroy Optimus economically. 

“A worthy cause,” Megatron replied, and scrawled his signature on the bottom of the pad. “My liege.” 

Tracks paused and nodded, “Thank you, my liege.” He took the pad, gathering it close. “Do I?” 

Megatron frowned, considering. “As much as I enjoy hearing you call me by my rightful title, it would be awkward during more… personal matters. Sir, will do.” 

“Sir,” he replied respectfully and nodded, hurrying off to the engineering labs. He had a project to get started. And likely, he would end up leading one highly frustrating ‘therapy’ session later with the lucky 'idiot of the cycle', as much as he respected Megatron, it didn’t stop him from being a vindictive aft.


	6. Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracks needs a little help and ropes in Blaster to pull it off.

Are you alone? 

Blaster paused, fingers over the keys from typing a message to the suspicious inquiring message. No handle, no I.D number, line heavy secure and scrambled. 

Yes. 

“Good, we really need to talk, and I rather do this as face to face as all possible.” Tracks drawled behind him and a hologram flaunted and sat down on the work space. “I need a scandal.” 

“You need to get out of the A.I system before I call security,” Blaster replied, face pained at the pale image of a Decepticon, rival, ex-lover in his quarters, posing on his equipment and demanding a favor. “Frag, how do you keep getting in here?”

“Teletraan has a thing for Nemesis,” the hologram replied and shrugged. “I find it… cute.” It was a hologram, not him. “Really, after that night cycle in Lyra, when you pushed me against that wall, that fierce kiss when you finally let your inhibitions down.” The optics brightened, sly bright blue. “The things that happened in that room.” 

Not him, not him. The hologram leaned forward, wings spread and receptive, Decepticon purple brands glowing from the screen, optics bright and lips slightly open. “Don’t you want that again?” 

It slipped forward, not him, curling in his lap insubstantial and swallowing his will like a black hole. It leant forward, claws teasingly dragging up his chest, nasal ridge near his audios, playful bump and the shivering of light particles shifting. “I’ve been missing you.” 

Not him. “Get off me,” Blaster ordered, managing to keep his voice steady. “Primus, can’t you just be straight with me for once?” Anger and frustration just poured out. “You keep seeking us out but you are entrenched in loyalty for that murder Megatron. I don’t know what is wrong with Mirage or what is wrong for me since I keep covering him whenever he sneaks out to see you.” 

“It’s appreciated.” Tracks settled again on the workstation. “Oil Slick had a trine of sparklings,” he said clipply, business tones sinking in and the soft lit from before evaporating. “I don’t want a spectacle like last time.” 

Blaster couldn’t stop the wince, remembering the tiny to still frame and the screaming grieving ‘con being held back. “Frag.”

“Miscalculation on ‘Slicks part but I can’t recall a cycle ever having multiples before. It would help if he hadn’t decided to make videos but I can’t blame him for being bored.” Tracks sighed, sounding pained, tired, and absolutely tiny and out of options. “I can’t drag Mirage into this. Jazz is pissed I lead his best agent ‘astray’ though what did he think would happen.”

Old anger was better. “Tracks, hush.” 

The holog… frag it, he stopped rambling. “What do you need?” He asked finally. Blaster couldn’t be a part of another ill time rescue leading to the death of a sparkling. 

“A scandal, something big enough to take everyone attention off the fact we are reproducing.” Tracks grinned, eyes gleaming. “Thinking a romance, a Romeo and Juliet were two mecha of opposite.”

“I get it… and how are you planning not to end up dead?”

“Megatron already signed off on it,” Tracks replied, way to please with this. “It should be, how are you going to pitch this to Optimus Prime so you can keep your precious job.” 

“And you have a plan.”

“Of course, but first… have you picked up any All Spark readings?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant to do a drabble for this yesterday but spent most of it moving my turtle into her new home. She is a very happy girl.


	7. tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter  
> But there is just something right about Tracks serving tea.

Tea was something he enjoyed. Tracks earliest memories was cuddled in Voice Coil’s lap, watching the large dark clay tea pot be passed around and sipping from a heavy mug the warm heated and strained energon. Cakes would make the rounds, thin metal wafers and oil confections and gels. As he got older, he learned how to mix the energon and bake the treats and the proper conduct of tea. 

Adjutant meant he was everyone errand boy. Tracks didn’t mind terribly. He didn’t have integrated weapons, wasn’t fully a triple change nor fully a shape shifter, and public relations was more of a civilian position. So bussing the table during meetings did not bother him. The fact that it was just plain energon did. 

So he went back to the Spirals and packed up the crystal and clay pots, the metal kettles and the strainers. The cups and plates and cart. So next time he bussed a meeting, he had three different mixes of energon in the kettles, laid out carefully on the cart. Hot energon could burn. A mound of leaf shaped oil cakes and carefully crimped and crisp foil straws filled with various mixes of gelled energon. 

And it was rather satisfying to stop any sort of drama by shoving a cake into a mouth.


	8. Punk'd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes... you need to take a break from your job and just fuck with Sunstreaker.

Tracks collected the files to turn into his commanding officer. He hummed slightly the lingering notes of Blaster’s voice echoing. A part of him wanted to be selfish, to take a joor break and just replay the broadcast and nestled in the warmth of the voice that should be his. He squashed it down, and left his quarters. 

Soundwave managed to keep the communication office neat. The monitors were spotless and the stations were organized, files in trays and baskets and everything labeled. Soundwave didn’t move from his station, but the twins shifted. 

Tracks grinned. “Just who I was looking for,” he set his reports down, letting his field span and brush the others in greeting. “Could I borrow the twins for a half joor? I have a personal project I could use their help in.” 

Tracks shrugged, accepting the wordless question. If Soundwave wanted to be secretively and use his telepathy to talk to him, he could go for it. /A prank, on Sunstreaker. / He replied back. Pranking Sunstreaker was always good for moral. The seekers at least always got a kick out of it. 

 

Tracks kept from making a face, ugh. /I’m not at the point where I’ll crash a battle field and tackle one of them for steamy exhibitionist ‘facing./ Close, but if he could just keep busy till the next time he could sneak off to see ‘Raj. 

Soundwave shifted, giving him the look. Tracks simply widen his optics, looking pitiful. He was not going to be guilt tripped.

“Acceptable: Twins go.” 

“Thank you.” Tracks turned, heading back to his quarters. “So, how familiar are you with Deadmau5 works?” he asked as they walked. “I was hoping you could code me a virus, so whenever Sunstreaker walks past a camera in the Ark, the intercoms will start playing ‘Attention whore.’” 

“Ooh, I think we could manage.” 

“Sounds a bit like something needing our specialty.”

Tracks smiled. “I thought it would be right up your alley. I have the song downloaded and Nem and I have been working on the frame recognition software.” This… would be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly catching up


	9. Conduits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two updates   
> Working out Spiral A.I. stuff and partnerships.

They fit snuggly in a port just a bit above his helm vents and a tad back. Tracks grimaced, guiding the second prong into the pin board. The mesh was uncomfortable, causing a full body shudder and the taste of biting into aluminum. Ugh. He worked his jaw, running his fingers down over the cords. 

He coiled the extra cord on the right first, attaching the magnetic clamp and reached back pushing it against his wing. Tracks then did the left, making sure the clamp clicked before pressing it against his wing. Right cord, right wing, left cord left wing. Simple. 

Tracks wiggled, smoothing the first cord to his hip and slipped the connector into the modem. He shut his optics, taking a deep shaky breath as the connection started. It felt… good, the deep thrumming pulse of the A.I. fields as they registered. Ware’s field completed first, the dominant A.I. of the central spiral flooding his awareness. Dark, smoky, ageless crackling that filled him like his first taste of black engex sprawled in the dark mesh chair of his ‘Tor’s study.

He shivered, picking up the second device. Tracks looked over the gleaming hard drive and fumbled as he worked to attach it to the left cord and slipped it on his hip. Pressure lifted and shifted and he shivered, feeling each connection of the fifteen A.I’s making up the Spirals. Ware’s heavy comforting field to Heuristic gentle touch, the tiny A.I. being the farthest posted all tumbling in his thoughts and filtered to something he could work with. 

His ancestors had acquainted the connection to hard lining, some had went deeper in comparing to spark sharing or being bonded, the weight and feel of having something other thrumming in his processor, thoughts flickering and emotions. 

Tracks licked his lips and started to relax, slowly thinning the connections to the barest sense of connection, to the level of dull white noise. He mentally pinched them, following one of the simpler exercises in the books. One after another till it is just him in his head. 

Then the shields, layered like crystal bubbles, thin and glimmering but hexagram reinforcement. Tracks built, surrounding his psyche and maybe indulging with a bit of play as he tuned the shield colors. The shimmer of Snap Wire’s plating when in full light. The purples of crystalline flower that grew in barbed spurts up the west wall.


	10. Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growing up can be painful

At times it felt like he was trapped in time. Slow growth, slow code adaption, what seemed to be a continuous cycle of molts with frustrating little to show for the trouble. When he was younger it was excuses to stay home and rest. The more vorns that piled up the more he recognized the gap between his peers.

And his sister, it hurt. It felt like his body was betraying him as he watched Thunderblast flirt. Tracks had no interested. He could flirt, he could sway and saunter but the feeling wasn’t the same. He didn’t feel the same connection. Something was missing… and it grated. His peers in the academy all seemed to be fixated on interfacing and forming a trine. His sister was fixated on it. Even his creators, ‘Tor was not as quiet as he thought he was. It seemed everyone was fixated on bonds and hard lines and sparks and he could just keep up and not seem completely out of the loop. 

It was maddening. Tracks had tried to date to see if it would just spur something. The first had fizzled to an end. His partner had been shy and he had been raw nerves and hope and at least they had parted at good terms even if it never got past a few chase kisses and hand holding. The second had made his plating crawl and he was certain Snap Wire might have threatened bodily harm. It was hard to tell with Snap Wire. His ‘Tor had just recalled that they were cousins to the Butcher Birds and wasn’t it fascinating how they impaled mechs, ‘So, very, very painful and such a slow way to likely die.’ 

‘Tor had been blunt in threatening Thunderblasts string of suitors. Probably because she seemed to have a new one every other Deca-cycle. He sighed stretching and slipped back inside the towers, leaving Thunderblast and her forty first? Forty seventh suitor? Frag if he knew any more.


	11. Cycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cycles.  
> Nothing goes as expected and Tracks romantic life would be at home on Jerry Springer.

Cycle 

Oil Slick had described the heat cycle like a full scale itch. It wasn’t heat and need and messes but the scent of ozone, and over sensitivity of plating and emotional havoc. When you hated someone, you flat out loathed them. There was no playing nice, you slugged them or glued them to their berth and wrapped them in a layer of tape because you could. Sometimes you did all three. 

Thunderblast had described it as running on a lack of inhibitions. You asked out the cute mech you had your eye on. You flirted with the high command and reveled in the attention when you licked energon off your fingers and or chest. Tracks thought it sounded like every other day of dealing with his sister. ‘Cept she was angrier. She had gotten rejected once when in the middle of a cycle and preceded to toss the offending mech into the nearest wall by his helm vents. 

Needless to say, the crew learned quickly to clear the room when a mech or femme smelt of ozone. Unspoken rules fell into place, and every so often part of the crew would find themselves overly polite in the face of possible wrath. The medics would despair because it ultimately meant one of two things, installment of conceptive chips or an in-depth check of an inhibitor. Leave time was arranged and personal reassigned if they became with spark. 

Tracks first cycle came after Mirage’s betrayal. He spent it sharp tempered, miserable, and unable to focus on his work. The vents circling air were too loud and were on the verge of painful when they blew against his plating. He itched constantly and ended up squirming and rolling on his berth covers trying to full body scratch. 

It was a mix of sensations and he rode it out on the verge of painful. Soundwave had been an over protective glitch and he had snapped at Megatron, twice and then threw a data pad at Shockwave’s head. In all, they were likely relieved when it ended .


	12. Morbid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracks younger siblings give him a gifts. They just happen to be made of scraplet parts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is short  
> 'Tor - short for creator   
> Kosir - Short for Co creator aka transfluid donor if they know who it is.   
> Kosirs - would be the plural version.

He had forgotten the mag-clips, so when Tracks had cleaned his rooms, stumbling on the dusty purple optic glass and age dulled legs was nostalgic. A bit of routing about brought up the second set. Both had been gifts from his younger feralie siblings, a mix of gift and coming of age and a declaration of how much of a hunter they both were. 

Tracks hadn’t looked too closely when Stealshine had first presented him his first set, six purple glass leaves clustered with silver veins and set on a half disk of dusky malachite. A tangle net of mutli color wires with heavy soldering lumps and chips of the same purple glass. It took him nearly a deca-cycle to noticed that the wire ended in little leg tips and the branch like silver edging of the disk was segmented legs. 

He brought up the fact to his ‘Tor who brought it up to his Kosir. It turned out that nearly every bit of the gift was created from scraplets. That the netting was internals, the lumps semi melted nerve clusters and little bits purple from optic glass. All the pretty purple glass was from their optics, shaped and sanded smooth. In all three of the little terrors had been constructed into a pair of mag-clips. 

A morbid memento. Gorgeous and challenging and he had worn them to a party thrown by a senator he really disliked. Worn them to the various parties over the vorns and when Noose had gave him a set of helm clips, these ones heavy geometrical. Purple squares of optical glass and long rectangles of tangled metal, he accepted them with incredible aplomb and worn them on a date.


	13. Smug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracks handles a problem and drinks some Tisane.   
> Skywarp and Starscream are some what impressed.

Tracks sunk back in the monitor chair, optics half shuttered and the heavily scent of a tisane slowly filling the room as the heavy copper kettle warmed on the hotspot. Blessed quite, something he had craved for the last earth week since the Aerialbot’s left the Autobots. 

Nem sang and snickered in Tracks’ audio, the A.I. floating over his shoulder, the tingle of the electric field playing with his. 

He smiled inwardly as two of elite trine graced his door way, standing slowly, with a bright smile he went and pour some of the tisane into the heavy cup. “Would you like a cup of tisane? I filled it with a quarter of highgrade, left it to warm, and strained a midgrade through a steel filter.”

“Did you kill them?” Skywarp asked, walking in and took one of the treats. “Cause you aren’t exhausted or threating to kill them.”

“No, I gave them to Starscream’s brother.” Though he had been tempted to strangle them a few times. Sunstorm seemed like a worse punishment at the time. And satisfyingly longer then he could have thought of with his frayed nerves. Tracks settled back on the chair with his tisane and sipped slowly. 

“Don’t call him that.” Starscream grumble and joined them. “He is a clone, a sad replica of my glory.” He picked up one of the treats and munched it and proceed to pour him a cup. “Yet, I have to complement you on your under handiness. To give them to Sunstorm of all mechs… hopefully they don’t return as radiated slag.”

“He has control, and he is your brother as Nitron is Megatron’s sister.” Which had been headache inducing. Ugh, just remembering the clone dilemma made him want to wince. Tracks wouldn’t deny he had been a bit underhanded. “I told him to return them when they learned the necessities.” And he might be a tad bit smug about this. 

“Necessities, you gave Sunstorm, the chosen of Primus a group of stupid autobot younglings who have the barest knowledge of seeker customs let alone religion to do as he pleases with until he gets tired of them?” Starscream snickered meanly and sipped the tisane. “You are becoming a very worthy Decepticon.” 

“I’ll take that compliment.” Yes, he was very smug indeed.


	14. Spies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chap as I get back into mojo from monday's break.

The first time he had heard of Megatron was by way of Solace, the A.I. spy master stumbling across an interesting recording and relayed it to him. It was also by word of mouth, when Optimus Prime was Orion Pax and less of a douche. 

Megatron called for a new government, a new system. Stripewire had attempted change before, but had gone down a radical path, calling for a colonization, a dwell control settlement. Which had happen, Stripewire had a thriving colony and was one of the major players in understanding C.N.A. coding and providing guidance and free medical care. 

A portion of his life had been spent on the cyberform world, exploring as they scrunized his coding. 

Stripewire approach was to separate themselves from the problem. Megatron was facing it head on and it was admirable. Now if he could just find the blasted mech.


	15. Home cooking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracks cooks for Raoul.

“How did you learn to cook?” Raoul watched Track’s cook from his couch, head resting on his hands. The more they were together the more things he found familiar from the doll unit to Tracks actual form. A similar way he moved, a sway of hips, the little motions he made with his hands. A tip of his head, a look in his eyes as he scrunized the omelet. 

“Nebulans. Others, there isn’t many ways to truly prepare energon. There are only so many ways to mix fluids, condense and congeal, bake and slice and I knew the basics before I tried the variety of organic consumables.” Tracks flipped the omelet.

“That’s cool. So you like cooking?” It smelt good and it was surreal having and watching an alien making an omelet in his tiny kitchenette. Tracks hummed, picking up a small sauté’ pan and stuffed the omelet with strips of ham, onion, mushroom, and peppers. Mmh that looked good. 

“I enjoy it. It is something I’m good at… and I do enjoy rubbing Optimus’ face into it.” Tracks hmmed, adding a handful of cheese. “For all that he preaches equality and the right of freedom for all species, he doesn’t really work on their level.” He folded the food, flipping it over. “He is above them.”

“He is rather preachy, likes to hear his own voice and pffh, that all is one soundbite bit.” Raoul sat up, stretching and padded on stocking feet to the kitchen. “Can’t see him cooking someone breakfast.” 

“He wouldn’t be able to, Optimus finds the use of the doll units deceiving. Though it was our answer to the Autobot’s use of holographic tech to better assimilate into organic populations.” Tracks slid the omelet on the offer plate, flashing a bright smile. “Do tell me what you think. That way I if I do cook for an ambassador, I don’t have fear of poisoning them.”

“Pffh,” Raoul nudged Tracks in the side, and cut a piece of the meal off, taking a bite. He chewed, swallowing. “This is good. Even if you are experimenting on me.”

“I can follow a recipe online perfectly fine, Raoul. Thank you. Though, I cook, you get to do the dishes.”

“What? Hey! I didn’t agree to no chores.”

“Dishes, Raoul. And Decepticon.”


	16. Curiosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raoul is regretting hosting Tracks' cousin and his baby. 
> 
> How in the world is this thing so mobile.

Raoul regretted his decision to let Tracks talk him into this. This being a toddler size sparkling currently attempting to climb his couch and it wasn’t going to be a couch much longer. He winced, listening the fabric rip under sharp little talons. When he thought two month old alien infant, he thought infant. Failing fists and just grasping things and trying to cram them in his mouth. Not a running, flailing and destroying his couch.   
“How is he only two months old,” he bemoaned, watching the sparkling’s ‘Tor gather the squirming bundle of white and purple and gold plating up. Oil Slick was interesting, his doll unit was skinny. They could be anyone, models, actors, actresses, and instead he was a skinny female of undefinable race with golden skin, all elbows and knees, in a simple grey sweatshirt and torn skinny jeans. The most noticeable thing had to be the brilliant green eyes. The most disturbing had to be the lack of eye lashes and the shaved break in the eyebrows. 

“We’re born mobile. I thought you knew.” Tracks said, lounging on the kitchenette counter. “And Slick’s a Butcher bird, they tend to be curious.” He smiled brightly, and picked up a grape, popping it in his mouth. “I’ll pay for the damages.”

“You better, the little menace destroyed my couch… and the lamps.” They had been some rather ugly lamps, but they worked. Had worked. Raoul sighed, watching the sparkling gleefully pet his ‘Tor’s face. “He’s sort of cute.” 

“Men is very cute.” 

“Shouldn’t he have some toys? Something to keep him occupied.” Raoul watched the sparkling grab a hunk of black hair, synth fiber? And shove it in his mouth, gumming. 

“We’re a war ship. Toys haven’t been top priority and 90% of the time, we know before the sparklet is born on an unfriendly planet and have the parents transferred somewhere safe.” 

“Unfriendly?”

“Skywatch, M.E.C.H. , Sector 7’s dissembled crazies. Others. Not as horrible as some of the places we been at, but your government certainly isn’t pleased to be hosting a race of intelligent extraterrestrial life.” 

“Yeah, the government sort of has it reasons.” Raoul leaned on the counter, bumping Track’s shoulder. “Starting with your arms.” 

“You mean Megatron’s cannon, I’m sure. You won’t belief the amount of lip we get about our leader having a cannon strapped on his arm. I’ve been thinking of sorting out the best one liners and making it into a blog.”


	17. Pounce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is hard to be intimated by Megatron when you count the Cybertronian equivalent slender man as relatives. Or Feralie are scarily adapted to kill things.

When he was younger, he wanted to be like his step Kosire. Tracks would attempt to follow the slender mech into the vents of the towers, or the structural rafters of the favored high domed ceilings of Vos buildings. He would wish that his pedes could split apart in the four digit spread that Snapwire used to wrap around the edge of vents and scaffolding for support and then snap down as he falls, giving him a solid platform to push and spring up. 

For the sensory platelets that covered him from helm to ankle joint, how they would flare up for danger. He never managed to sneak up on him, rangy arms and long finger hands that seemed brittle would always reached out and snagged him before he managed to do anything. 

Sometimes Snapwire would carry him up in the ceiling structures and let he would cling to his Kosire’s back, gleeful as they leapt from beam to beam, air rushing in his face plates and squeal as Snapwire pounced on his ‘Tor, air whistling and gravity rushing to meet them.


	18. Reassigned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Reggie.   
> Sector 7 may be disbanded but the Decepticons want those papers.

“Reggie, please come and sit down.” 

Simmons walked in, back straight, angry and tightly wound up. He had been pissed on by an N-B-E, almost been killed by a hyped up mini one, sought they had won a battle just to have a second group appear and take over. Adding on to it, Sector 7 was disbanded and he was out a job. He sat down, making sure the chair scraped the floor and flopped over the desk. “Sir.”

“I have a job offer for you, though you might not care to take it considering the employer.” The officer said, setting a file on the desk and pushed it forward. “Look it over before I tell you who is seeking to hire you.” 

Simmons frowned but pulled the folder close, looking over it. Benefits were listed first, over a hundred grand a year, free housing, an actual health plan including dental and vision. The second part… was an invitation to view a spaceship. The Nemesis. “Wait, that flashy upstart with the fancy accent wants me to be their liaison?” 

“Tracks. He feels like you could provide a benefit to the Decepticons. The president wants this handled quickly considering we have a spaceship the size of Texas in orbit and an unknown number of non-biological entities aboard said vessel. Not to mention a destroyed alien artifact and an untold amount of dead alien babies of the year. The president stresses it might be best to give them what they want.” 

“Which is me.” 

“He asked for you by name. We also have a request for a copy of all Sector seven research, files, photos, and tapes and for interviews with workers. They are being rather polite but holding strong on their demands. You were at the center of the Mission city incident and are part of the founding families.” 

“Well, shit.”


	19. First day on the job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons gets to break atmosphere and shown up by two kids.

They were taking a small shuttle to the main ship. Small being an operative world, considering the craft was about the size of a high school football field. Enough to fit a modest size N-B-E and three humans. Still, he was in a spaceship. A small part of Reggie Simmons was bubbling over in excitement because Real Live Spaceship, the larger part was watching his sovereign state disappear from view. A very larger reminder that he was going to be a guest on a warship full of N-B-E that all towered over him. 

Raoul was relax, half clambered over Track’s hands and half on the shuttle console and Reggie was half following the conversation from Raoul’s replies. Enough to know the Hispanic youth was way too comfortable with the exterestial. Sasha was doing lawyer things, pressed against the curve of a wall, legs dangling as she tapped away on her blackberry. 

Which ranked because they had confiscated his phone on grounds of security. And holy mother of god… that was a beautiful ship. Big, big ship in dark slate black and slashes of white and gold and he craned his neck, attempting to see any sort of weaponry and wonder faintly if he was qualified for that because it could be a turbine or whatever the ship used to move. 

“Going to want to buckle in,” a calm voice said and Sasha slid down from her spot, grabbing a harness and strapping in. “The landing is always a bit rough.” 

“Harness, right.” And who designed this thing? There was too many straps and buckles and fiddly bits.   
“Like this.” Raoul appeared, his harness already on and started helping him into it. “You get the hang of it after a while.” He reached back, pulling a line and a hook and attached it towards the back. “Keeps you from ending up on the floor.” 

The floor didn’t sound pleasant at all. “Thanks.” Simmons watched them head towards the oddly padded part of the console, where the hook and lines had come from. Hn. He walked slowly towards them, clambering up and wishing he had ten less years on him. “Does this thing have seatbelts?” 

“Nope. Though I’m thinking of installing some when I get some free time.” Raoul craned his head up. 

Simmons looked up, watching the doors open, showing bright light. 

“Welcome to the Nemesis.”


	20. Hanger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reggie is rather overwhelmed by the sheer mass of space and omg ships.

Forty of them, forty and they were all single passenger space worthy ships. And this was just a single hanger. Reggie tampered down the absolute glee of being surrounded by so many crafts, and they weren’t all the same even to his untrained eye. 

Each ship was latched in place, hanging from some sort of harness, and they walked out on an expansive catwalk, wide enough to fit a good amount of his kitchen and dining room in. He had been presented with magnetic strips to attach to his shoes and had to fight to figure out how to get them attached so it didn’t feel he was walking on inch strips. 

It seemed like a slow day. He had lingered watching a pair of NBEs work on repairing a ship before moving on. The catwalk had guard rails, but they were built for NBE’s and hence, well above any comfortable reach. Actually, the strips were pretty ingenious to provide some safety. 

Reggie followed Raoul and Sasha off the catwalk, Tracks remaining behind on the ship till they had cleared it and then followed. It seemed like a small thing, but Reggie had been grateful. The catwalk had been swaying badly enough with just the three of them. A twenty foot NBE following them? Ugh. 

“This way.” Raoul waved him over and Reggie followed him down a lift that looked like it had been dragged out of an old fashion mine and hung as an afterthought over the stairs. Stairs that he wouldn’t be handle. Lifts were good. Even if they were ancient pile of what not. 

“This is more,” Reggie paused and swallowed gathering his words. “Did Tracks,” did they all have names that would be better suited to cartoons? “do all of this?” Reggie hadn’t expect this level of awareness. The NBEs he knew seemed to work on the concept of if it moves squish it. 

“Mmhm, we aren’t the first organics they had aboard the ship. So outside of getting us food, everything was pretty set.” Raoul stepped off and headed toward a pair of large but small doors, compared to the behemoth Tracks had disappeared into. “You are going to want to remove anything metal or electronic, the decontamination processes is murder on them. And this is our door.” Raoul tapped on the one to the left. “Originally these were built for decontamination native animals. This one was repurposed for our use.” 

“Ahh.” It just seemed that everyone was surprising him today. Reggie removed the items and followed them inside. He hadn’t even met the leader of the group, who had a giant cannon merged on his arm, and he was frazzled enough just stepping onto the actual ship.


	21. Recruitment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raoul and Reggie are supposed to recruit Mikaela. Tracks has stuff to discuss with Jazz and kicks them out instead. 
> 
> Alt title. Reggie figures out he is trapped in a interstellar cross fraction soap opera and bitches about it.

“Why are we recruiting a criminal? I don’t like her, or her punk boyfriend.” Reggie complained, displeased with their mission. 

“Don’t you know? We only recruit hot criminals,” Raoul replied cheekily, watching the neighborhood pass. “But, Mikaela is dating Sam and Tracks’ cousin is holed up in the area with his sparkling. So hopefully if we can get Mikaela recruited we can also get enough information or pull to capture that Bumblebee clone.”

“Everything was easier when we freezed them.” Reggie grumbled. “Allspark clones and NBEs and now criminals.” 

“Hot criminals.” Raoul teased and paused, head tilting. “Tracks, is that.” 

“Yes, everyone out,” Tracks applied his breaks, stopping firmly and opened his doors. “ I need to talk to Jazz… privately.” 

“Are you kicking us out?” Reggie asked incredulous, glancing back at Raoul and sighed, following the Hispanic youth out. “And he just kicked us out to go driving after a”

“Autobot boyfriend. Cross fractional boyfriends.” Raoul offered. “Which means they don’t get a lot of time to just talk. And you should just go with it.” 

“Are they are army or a soap opera? Cross fraction romances and clones and that not mentioning whatever chaos is going in the command with screechy and cannon arm.” Reggie kicked a beer can, watching it skitter as they walked up the sidewalk. “I feel like I’m stuck in an anime.” 

“Welcome to the club. You have to admit, the job is never boring.”


	22. Jive and Jazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clones galore! 
> 
> Jazz talks to Tracks, and learns he has a clone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jive is Jazz's clone from The Allspark created by The Fallen.  
> Prowler is less of a clone and more of a testtube bitlit. 
> 
> Mal is Magnificus nickname. Mostly because calling him Mag is too close to Megs and he rather crazy.   
> He is Percy's clone.

Clones  
Because they are all over the place in Cannon. Also Jazz and Tracks fluffiness of sorts. 

It had been some time since they had met. Jazz drove in silence, letting his field reach out and merge with Tracks as they simply drove side by side down the highway. Tracks’ field was tense, flickering with unease but open, and there was longing underneath the prickliness. 

Jazz questioned, breaking the barrier. Ops had sent him down to the west coast since the ‘Incident’ happened to get information. Tracks grumbled and sighed. Exhaustion drifted through the field, settling into lethargy. 

Jazz jerked before settling on his wheels, revving a bit of speed to pull away and get a few car lengths ahead so he could calm down. Tracks replied waspish. 

_Jazz slowed, settling near Tracks again. He reached out, gently brushing his field against the corvettes._

__Jazz drew into the station, pulling behind the building and transformed. He stretched and motioned Tracks to join him._ _

__Tracks transformed and came over and instead of sitting down beside him like he expected, choose to sprawl over his lap. “Really?” Jazz grinned, not minding as he shifted Tracks closer._ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__“So, Jive hnn?” Jazz settled back, retting his hands over the sleek back and ran up and over, tracing the near wings._ _

__“I shouldn’t have named him, but calling him Jazz the second or Jazz clone just…” Tracks trailed off, shifting back into his hands and sighed. “Jive just fit, and he seems a lot like you.”_ _

__Jazz tweaked the wing, scrapping his fingers slowly over the underside. Tracks shivered and rolling need swamped his field before it stilled and closed up. “Hey, hey, don’t do that. I’ve missed you.” Jazz played with the sensitive spot at the base of the wings, gently rubbing his thumb over it. “And you need to calm down.”_ _

__“I’m fine.” Tracks muttered and spread his wings father apart, revealing more of the sensitive spots. “Sort of, near the bottom and to the right?”_ _

__Jazz laughed and followed the instructions, stroking firmly over the spot. “I’ve shouldn’t have gotten upset.” He frowned, continuing to rub over the insides of the wings. “Just, never thought I would be meeting or dealing with a clone. My clone at that.”_ _

__He knew that a clone existed. The Fallen and the AllSpark cube had been enough for a temporary ceasefire between the fractions. His clone, all the clones from the living Decepticon and Autbots hadn’t been found, and the Fallen had escaped. The cube had disappeared and it was a bit bitter that it had ended up here again._ _

__“Don’t think anyone really expected it after the treaty.” Tracks moved, sliding back and gave a deep purring sound. “Well, at least ones not by Shockwaves hands.”_ _

__“Shockwave caused enough problems.” Jazz muttered. “Though how are Mal and Prowler?”_ _

__“Mal is as fine as he can be. Still has creator problems and sibling problems. Prowler is taking students since Yoketron had decided to mostly retire.” Tracks wiggled and Jazz vented deeply as talented fingers wiggled into his knee joints. “He’s training a pair of seeker younglings. Twins. They are cute. Though.”_ _

__Tracks trailed off and glanced back, looking deeply in Jazz’s optics. “You’re distracting me from your clone.”_ _

__“Sort of. I don’t know what to do with him. Has Killi check him out yet?” Jazz continued to play with the wings, stroking slowly backwards and ran his fingers into Tracks’ hip joints._ _

__“Not yet, Knock Out got him stable. Shockwave and Hook did a coding preliminary scan of some sort.” Tracks sat up, stroking a hand down his face and sighed, setting his helm against Jazz’s chest. “Is he simply a clone or a sibling, Jazz?”_ _

__“I don’t know, I really don’t.”_ _


	23. Thunderblast does not approve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thunderblast may not be the best younger sister or big sister to her siblings, but Primus destroy her if she merely lets a mech or femme break their sparks.

If it had been before the death of Sentinel Prime by the hands of Megatron, Thunderblast wouldn’t have thought much about it. Mechs, Femmes, they all flirted with her elder brother and Tracks had been rather oblivious about it. The slow coding error had save quite a few mechs from having her ‘Tor’s pede of their afts. 

Not saying he wasn’t protective of her, just there tended to be disappointment mixed into the snarling. After having two sparklings … eh, she really couldn’t blame anyone but herself. She had done what needed to be done to keep Voice Coil as part of the towers. 

This new mech did not belong. Vos had open its gates to refugees with sparklings that wished to travel off world during the conflict and he had appeared, an Iacon Towerling toting information and shanix to donate to the effort and capturing her brother’s spark. He was pretty, and had been a known supporter of the movement’s efforts to provide for unfortunates. He had showed up with a small group of refugees that had traveled through Tarn. 

She couldn’t convict him of anything, yet. Tarn was sympathetic to the movement. The high council of Vos was seeking out negotiation with the civilians to help them throw of Iacon’s yoke of oppression. Not to mention to ease the supply chain from Vos to Kaon and provide Vos with a fellow nearby city-state. 

Nearly everyone came to Vos through Tarn. Still. The mech didn’t need to be all over her only elder brother. She frowned, nibbling on her energon crystal candy, watching Mirage escort her sibling to Serenade’s latest concert. 

He was going to mess up, sometime, but before then she needed to get him alone and make sure that mech knew what was going to happen if he broke her siblings spark.


	24. Calling out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through accident or design, Optimus keeps ignoring Tracks calls. Tracks isn’t going to stand for it. He does find it distasteful he has to drag Blaster into this.

“Good morning, my fellow mechs. Today is going to be a gorgeous day for us on the east coast. Sunshine and low wind speeds, meaning those that want to speed down the tarmac, get your slips into Ops, soon as possible peeps.” Blaster cleared the screen, tapping to bring up the music list. “For those on patrol, keep tuned in for the upcoming musical jam. Keeping your audios open my mechs and remember, if you are ever in need, just contact the voice.” 

“Is that so Love?” Ahh frag, frag, frag. Blaster scrambled at the controls to transfer the call off the air. “ I do have an urgent request, if you could put me in …” The click rang out and Tracks voice continued smoothly in his work space. “contact for Optimus or tell him to stop ignoring my calls and tattling on my doings to the Galactic council. And I’m off the air, aren’t I?”

“Yes, Dear Primus how did you… did you hack Jazz’s communication number?” Blaster asked, staring at the familiar row of numbers. “Tracks, babycakes, why do you have to start slag on my show?” 

“Because if I don’t, Optimus will continue to ignore my calls. And while I can set aside and accept his ill manners when dealing with attacks on my fraction’s mines and how I earned the seed money to buy them. But when he sets the Galactic council on me for protecting the newly sparked, then the gloves are off.” 

“Vent, Tracks. Cool down a bit.” Blaster leaned back in his chair, wondering what had set his, their diminutive lover off. “Now what all this about everyone favorite grey slime balls?” 

“Your wonderful leader,” and there was the spitting venom Blaster somewhat loved in the mech. Tracks was passionate in his beliefs. “Decided that instead of speaking to me about my decision to interfere at Mission City, he would contact the galactic council instead about a breach in protocol regarding non space fairing organics. I had to dicker with the council about priorities.” 

“It was a rather bold move, appearing at Mission city with two scores of soldiers. Tracks, everyone is still talking about the alien invasion. Ops has a right to be concern.” Blaster soothed. “He’s just looking out for everyone’s best interests.”

“Humanities best interests.” 

Blaster gave a soft tired chuckle. “He has a reason, they are so much frailer then we are.”

“And have so much more numbers. I should get going, but darling? You really should talk to Jazz. He is going to need someone to talk to.” 

“What am I talking to Jazz about?” Blaster questioned, concerned. “Tracks, don’t go playing this game with me.”

“I can’t tell you, Jazz really should be the one to tell you. But he really should talk to someone about it. I think you are the one most likely to understand. There is so many choices that have to be made.”


End file.
